


Schifflein

by Autumnisneverpretty



Category: Das Boot (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Klaus Hoffmann - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumnisneverpretty/pseuds/Autumnisneverpretty
Summary: On land it is wrong, at sea it is still wrong , but on a little boat it’s easy to ignore the rest of the world and focus only on one other man
Relationships: Klaus Hoffmann/Karl Tennstedt
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

Tennstedt knew it was wrong. He knew he should be thinking about Marlene Dietrich or Ingrid Bergman or that American mädel, Lauren Becall. But he doesn’t. Instead, when he and the men have their privacy, when they have their dicks in their hands, when they have their minds on Marlene Dietrich or Ingrid Bergman or that damned Lauren Becall, Tennstedt thinks of fucking Hoffmann.

He pictured the kaleun’s soft features, his sharp cheekbones,his hands, only so rarely free of those damn gloves, slender but rough, and his eyes. Maybe most of all he pictured those fucking eyes. He knew it was wrong and tried again for the hundredth, thousandth time to make himself stop, but he couldn’t deny the way his dick hardened, the way his breath quickened, the way his heart leapt in his chest, when he thought of those pretty eyes.

He thought of the kaleun angrily searching for words when he realised Tennstedt failed to relay key information on that first day. The gentle rage on the other man’s face. The anger that has softened but not dulled over the voyage. He imagined the kaleun hitting him, punching him, screaming at him. 

Or maybe. 

Or maybe dragging him to his little room, making him get on his knees and, fuck , pressing his dick to the Eins WO’s lips. 

Tennstedt grunted and hurried his rubbing. He closed his eyes, and again though of Hoffmann. 

The captain hands curling into his hair and gripping it tight, cursing and moaning, such strange behaviour for the usually reserved man. Tennstedt thought Hoffman seemed like the type to make little gasps and pants. Little moans and mummers. Like a virgin. Like a little attention seeking brat. 

He wondered if Hoffmann was a virgin, and even though he was wanking to the dream of sucking the kaleun’s cock, the thought of the captain having sex seemed wrong somehow, different and bizarre. He seemed repulsed by the idea of going whoring with the men, though maybe that was because of the men. Tennstedt briefly thought of the possibility that maybe it was the idea of fucking women that drove away the captain. Maybe he was like Tennstedt. Or maybe the captain just had a girl back home. But, Tennstedt didn’t want to think of that, especially when he was so close to coming.

In his glorious daydream, Tennstedt licked along Hoffmann’s shaft, and the man quaked. He continued to suck and lap at the cock in his mouth. The kaleun reached down and ran his thumb along Tennstedt’s cheek. He pushed his dick further into the 1WO’s mouth. He moved back and forth, fucking Tennstedts mouth, until a strangled yelping sound erupted from the captains lips and he came in Tennstedts throat. 

On the boat, Tennstedts came too, quietly, so as not to alert the other men. He cleaned himself up quietly too, his usually roaring mind peaceful and calm. Before he left his bunk, he closed his eyes and once more pictured those soft green eyes, he knew he would see them in just a few moments knew also that they would never hold the same enraptured glow that they did in his fantasy. He inhaled and stood, stepping out into the corridor and started to walk towards the bridge.


	2. Chapter 2

Hoffmann knew. Tennstedt was sure. He hated that it was obvious, he had tried hard to keep up appearances . Still cold, still glaring, still always bordering on the edge of contempt and disrespect, but something had changed. He was more distant and wary.

As the Captain made his way onto the bridge, Tennstedt looked up. 1WO had been looking over the cartography desk, one hand in his pocket, the other leaning against the wall. He noticed the strange look on Hoffmanns face. 

He knew.

“Gentlemen.”

Tennstedt hadn’t allowed himself to look at Hoffman in two days, not since his indulgence earlier in his bunk. He had always had this rule, not to look at the men he dreamed about, a mixture of guilt and the dreaded idea they could tell.

“Strelitz, position?”

He wanted to look at Hoffmann. Desperately. 

“210 miles north-east of La Coruna. Course two-eight-zero” 

As the Kaleun watched Stelitz trace his finger across the map, Tennstedt came close to him. Hoffmann turned to him slightly, and Tennstedt realised he had to say something.He had to or else he would look strange. 

“Still nothing from the Lorient?” He asked trying to fight the rising wave of something in him. 

He didn’t know what it was, not really.  
He had felt the same something he felt at 14, young and alone, living through a war that was not his own, but was his father’s, his country’s, his people’s. Young and hungry , he and the other lads crowded round a newspaper reading the reports of the Somme. He remembered the feeling rising through him as his Schulsprecher, a boy he greatly admired holding him close, whispering calming things to him. 

Young and stupid.He hadn’t known back then that it was wrong. 

It was the boy’s fault.

It was Hoffmann’s fault. 

For those damn looks he gave him with those damn eyes. 

Those eyes that know again looked at his. A muscle tightened in the Kaleun’s jaw and Tennstedt had to look away. 

He did that on purpose, the 1WO thought.

“Time for another drill.”

Tennstedt turned. Eyes and feelings did not change the fact the man was an idiot. An inexperienced idiot who had only gotten the job through nepotism and favouritism.

“Corvette, zero three five, two thousand four hundred yards, angle-on-the-bow, port two zero.”

The 1WO coughed slightly, “Sir with all due respect-" 

“Speed 18 knots."

Tennstedt felt a muscle tightened in his jaw. The Kaleun was an asshole. Stupid, overconfident, unprepared and cocksure. 

“Target cause?” 

“One-five-five, sir,” He said through gritted  
teeth, “course recommendation for counter-attack two-five-three.”

“Make ready tubes one and two.”

***

Every moment throughout the drill, Tennstedt thought only of Hoffmann. He wanted, desperately, for the captain to look at him, to see him, to ignore, to disdain him, to never let his mind rest on Tennstedt, lest he realise the reality of what the man was. 

Hoffmann came close to him so many times, and each time he wanted to scream, to punish Hoffmann for daring to do that, to look like that, so delicate, so soft, so unfit for his role.

Tennstedt hated himself then, for judging whether or not the man was for for captaincy when he was what he was. But Hoffmann didn’t know that, he couldn’t have, but the way he looked at Tennstedt when he thought he couldn’t see him, make the 1WO think otherwise.

He knew it was nothing, he knew he was imagining it but still, the part of him that wanted it to be true was hard to quiet.

Tennstedt knew he had to say something cruel and cutting, something that made the Captain know that he hated him. That he thought the man was a shit excuse for a leader. When the knew command from Lorient came in and Strelitz told him time it would take, he saw his chance.

“Enough time for some more drills.” He muttered, a smirk crossing his face.

The Captain came close to him again, too close, and this time Tennstedt could feel the Kaleun’s breath and he can feel his glare and that feeling is back, the feeling of being held by his Schulsprecher, the feeling of when he was eighteen and met a boy from Munich, the feeling he felt when he looked at Hoffmann, which he then could not do and forced his eyes to the floor. The feeling that is unnatural and unwanted and so, so desperately what he desires.

But the Kaleun did not know this feeling and instead bit back, 

“The purpose of a drill is to test the men under pressure,”

“Without pressure, there is no test.”

“But I think that, you know this, First Watch Officer.”

Tennstedt froze. Did Hoffmann know, not what he was, but his other shame? The rush that should have been adrenalin, but was instead fear? He had known Hoffman would reply but not like that.

He was rarely challenged. Again the feeling rose within him, but this time altered slightly, like standing on the edge of a cliff and feeling the sudden urge to jump. He wasn’t sure whether or not he liked it.  
***

Later Tennstedt when took a break, he walked down half the length of the ship. He didn’t really know where he was going but he paused outside Hoffman’s cabin. “Cabin” might have been to generous for what was little more then a hole in the wall. It existed as an recess in the wall, separated from the rest of the ship by a shallow alcove and two curtains. Tennstedt wondered if the Captain knew what a luxury he had, one the rest of the men were deprived. Probably not, he reasoned. The Kaleun had probably been raised to expect such treatment. He would have hated he man if he didn’t bloody want him so much

Tennstedt stepped into the lip of the alcove, the first curtain falling behind his back. He paused, staring at the remaining curtain in front of him, unsure of what to do. Unsure of why the hell he was even there. 

He listened to the sounds of the Kaleun in his room. Moving slightly, on the bed, the springs bounced beneath him, the removing of a coat, the small sigh of satisfaction that came from relaxing in one’s own space. The sound of rustling fabric, and another sigh.

He knew he should do something, either leave or enter. Both seemed very stupid.

Tennstedt swallowed, reached towards the pale fluttering curtain, and turned back down corridor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “feeling” Tennstedt is talking about is butterflies, if it wasn’t clear. MORE ANGST.


End file.
